Soul Sanctuary: Book Two Of The Spirit Shield Saga Read online

  Soul Sanctuary

  Susan Faw

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 SUSAN FAW

  All rights reserved. Reproduction or utilization of this work in any form, by any means now known or hereinafter invented, including, but not limited to, xerography, photocopying and recording, and in any known storage and retrieval system, is forbidden without permission from the copyright holder.

  Cover Design by Greg Simanson

  Edited by Pam Harris

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  PRINT ISBN 978-0-9953438-5-6

  EPUB ISBN 978-0-9953438-4-9

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 Witness

  Chapter 2 Legend

  Chapter 3 The Hunt Begins

  Chapter 4 Cathair

  Chapter 5 Faylea

  Chapter 6 The Pact

  Chapter 7 The Temple

  Chapter 8 A Wizard’s Answer’

  Chapter 9 Elder One

  Chapter 10 Cyrus’s Plan

  Chapter 11 Transformed

  Chapter 12 Heading for Trouble

  Chapter 13 Power Struggle

  Chapter 14 Artio

  Chapter 15 Alcina

  Chapter 16 Drawings in a Cave

  Chapter 17 Remember

  Chapter 18 Captured

  Chapter 19 Descent into Hell

  Chapter 20 Jail Break

  Chapter 21 Ring of Shade

  Chapter 22 Sleepwalker

  Chapter 23 Deepest Desires

  Chapter 24 Genii

  Chapter 25 Decisions

  Chapter 26 Sharisha’s Hunt

  Chapter 27 Freedom

  Chapter 28 Love Lost

  Chapter 29 The Sacred Slopes

  Chapter 30 Friend or Foe?

  Chapter 31 Mordecai’s Plan

  Chapter 32 Brimstone

  Chapter 33 The Second Doll

  Chapter 34 Fates Align

  Chapter 35 Answered Prayer

  Chapter 36 Genii’s Vision

  Chapter 37 Stony Silence

  Chapter 38 High-Flying Rescue

  Chapter 39 Tracks in the Sky

  Chapter 40 A Matter of Age

  Chapter 41 The Task at Hand

  Chapter 42 Anarchy

  Chapter 43 Mordecai’s View

  Chapter 44 Sheol Animus

  Chapter 45 Focal Point

  Chapter 46 Daimon

  Chapter 47 The Plan

  Epilogue

  Note from the Author

  About the Author: Susan Faw

  Dedication

  As I finish the editing of this book and prepare to go to press, it is the blush of a new year. I am excited to be blessed with another year of life, where so many have not made it. For all that this planet can be a scary place I still want to live in it. I hope you do too!

  Regardless of who we are, or where we come from in life, we all have an important role to play in the development of our world, for better or for worse. The world is a great stage and every day, we are called to our role, to act our part. Give the performance of your life. Don’t let the curtain fall to anything short of thunderous applause.

  I’d like to dedicate this book to my family and to my parents who, although they have never read any of my writings (fantasy is not their ‘thing’) nevertheless gave me the ultimate start in life and have always believed in me. Thank you for your love and support from on high, and here on this lovely blue planet.

  To discover additional titles in The Spirit Shield Saga, visit my website at http://susanfaw.com/spirit-shield-saga/

  Prologue

  This is not your fight. Let them die!

  THE ARMY ROLLED OUT of the southern plains and into the short hills, a river of red-coated lava swirling through the valley base. The push of soldiers clogged the narrows, splashing up onto the hillsides and coating the passes in a crimson crust of death.

  The Primordial runners peered down at the roiling mass of men from their perch high atop an abandoned eagle’s nest, wedged in a towering deciduous tree which clung to the northern edge of the pass. The crown of the treetop camouflaged their lookout while providing an unimpeded view of the undulating scene below.

  As one, the runners shimmied down from their perches and ghosted into the dense cover of squat pine, the thick carpet of needles providing silent footing as they ran. Of all the passes to approach, this was the worst, the most feared by the Primordial Chiefs, as the civil war left the defending clans stretched to the limit.

  Indeed, some defenders had abandoned their posts, their fear over the rumoured fate of their kin overcoming their desire to fight. Whispers of villages emptied and entire families snatched away by unknown forces had caused a swelling defection within the forward units of tribal defenders. It was so rampant that the Chieftains now arrested those who attempted desertion and handed them over to the priests, rather than admit that the Flesh Clan defenders were cowards.

  The Primordial priests were only too happy to receive the disaffected clansmen, as they had their own mandate to fulfill.

  In a solitary camp perched high on the side of the Wailing Mountain, deep within the pass, the disloyal were marched with hands tightly bound in front, a never-ending stream of clansmen. The guards assigned to this duty delivered their prisoners swiftly and without delay, wishing to be away from the encampment full of shivering, wild-eyed priests. The priests’ camp never slept except during the daylight, the time from dusk to dawn alive with the scurrying holy men.

  Late into the night, the screams of the sacrifices howled through the encampment, flooding down to the tents below, the souls of the sacrifices dancing in the flames of their campfires, confirming the transfer to those who would continue the fight.

  Primordial High Priests, clothed in cloaks comprised of leathery-patched skins of unknown origins and embedded with eagle feathers, raised bloody knives to the sky and chanted. The bleeding of the sacrifices was a delicate thing. Too little bleeding and the sacrifices would go into shock before the transfer was complete; too much bleeding and the soul would be lost.

  A bare-chested apprentice with only one eagle feather bound to each tattooed arm dipped a hollowed gourd into a basin of potion warming on hot rocks at the edge of the firepit. Carefully, he carried the gourd, brimming with liquid, over to the naked, blindfolded woman staked out spread-eagle on the ground at the edge of the flickering light. With one hand, he pinched her cheeks so that her mouth was forced into an O shape then tipped the contents of the gourd into it. He plugged her nose, forcing her to swallow convulsively while she thrashed in her bonds. The blindfold slipped, and the woman’s furious eyes stabbed into the apprentice. Then, with the last of her strength, she spat the remains of the potion back in his face. With a scream, he stumbled away from the woman, frantically wiping it off. Everywhere the potion landed, it bubbled and hissed. Blisters erupted, large red swellings bubbling under the skin. They popped and oozed, drying instantly. Within seconds her skin withered, cracking and curling into drifts that feathered to the ground, even while the woman’s eyes rolled back in her head.

  Blood bloomed where the curls of skin had been, to run in rivulets that joined larger flows. The High Priests crowded around the woman’s corpse and caught the blood dripping from her body in gleaming bone vessels. Once the bowls were full to the brim, the High Priests bega
n a rhythmic chant, waving a hollowed rainstick carved with runes over the bowls, seducing the spirit of the blood sacrifice and binding it to the blood for transfer into a new vessel.

  The woman’s heart pumped valiantly as the last of its life force seeped to the surface. With a final shudder, she relaxed in her bonds, sagging limply in the ropes suspending her body.

  The priests turned their backs on the empty shell, and the chanting rose in pitch, calling forth the spirit of the dead woman. Wisps of movement danced on the surface of the bowls of blood, thickening then dissipating, and formed once again, a shadowed impression of a red face floating above the surface of the vessels.

  They walked past the line of shivering men, kneeling at the edge of the firelight, arms bound behind their backs, awaiting their turn to serve the High Priests. All of them averted their eyes, hoping to not be chosen, hoping that they would be executed in the normal fashion. Beheading was preferable to being bled to death in their eyes. A whimper escaped the mouth of one of the deserters, as his courage failed once again. With a jerk on his bindings, he was hauled to his feet by two burly apprentices. He howled as he was dragged toward the sacrificial pit.

  The High Priests paid no attention to the commotion, transfixed on the process at hand. Their chanting grew louder, the rhythm faster as they approached a small animal tied to a metal stake driven deep into the ground. On closer inspection, a bear cub peered up at the approaching priests, licking its lips hungrily. The priests placed the bowls before the cub, chanting in a singsong voice that soothed it.

  Once the priests backed away, the cub sniffed at the offering and then began to lap up the blood thirstily. The priests’ song shrieked assailing the ears of the watchers as the bear drank until all the blood was gone.

  Suddenly, the song ceased. A gong was sounded, once, twice, three times. As the sound faded from the third gong, the cub roared.

  A vortex formed around the cub, spinning and swirling, dragging soil into its maelstrom as it arose, faster and faster, tiny bolts of energy sparking within the cloud, which grew into a funnel then into a tornado, which picked up the cub and whirled it about. Bolts of lightning stabbed the ground and the priests stepped back, hands covering their faces as the sand stung their skin, whipping their eagle feathers until they mocked flight.

  With a great clap of thunder and a blinding flash of light, everything stilled.

  As the dust cleared, a body was revealed, curled into a ball on the ground. Slowly, it unfurled and rose to its feet.

  A muscular woman stood before them, ten feet tall with a face that hinted at the bear cub, but fully human in form. A ruff of tawny hair curled past her broad shoulders. She was clad in a tight-fitting leather jerkin and leggings with a sheath for a great sword strapped to her hip.

  Artio sniffed the air with a feral toothy grin and rumbled in the celestial voice of the gods, “Bow to me.”

  As one, the Primordial clansmen and High Priests fell to the ground, their faces pressed to the earth.

  Artio drew her lips back and bared her long incisors in a parody of a smile and then bellowed with pleasure.

  Chapter 1

  Witness

  AT THE TOUCH OF GAIUS’S HAND on her shoulder, Avery Tiernan slowly released her hold on the leafy undergrowth, allowing it to relax to its normal position.

  A ringlet of dark hair snagged on a twig, threatening to shake the bush and alert the watched to the presence of the watchers. She peered at the tangle out of the corner of her eye then unwound the stray lock, silently praying the faces would remain pressed to the earth.

  Freeing her hair, she took one last peek at the scene and locked eyes with the giant bear-like goddess. Artio bared her teeth, and a chuckling grunt issued from her throat. Avery broke contact and scooted back to her companions, hiding behind a large boulder with their horses muzzled. Sharisha urged her to mount up beside her father, Gaius, who was already seated astride his big barrel-chested mare.

  As one they fled, urging their mounts into a swift trot, eager to put distance between themselves and the Primordial encampment. Reaching the mountain face, they slowed to a walk and allowed their mounts to pick their way along the sheer mountain goat trail that crisscrossed the rocky face of the mountain. The trail was even more treacherous with only the moon to light the descent. Loose shale threatened to slip out from under the horses’ hooves at any given moment.

  Sharisha’s mount clattered over the last of the stones at the base and disappeared down a level path just as Gaius’s mount slipped, hooves sliding out from under it. With a crash, the horse fell onto its side and slid the remaining ten feet to the base of the mountain. Gaius cried out at the lurch and kicked his left leg out of its stirrup, but before he could push himself clear of his mount, it was sliding down the scree. His leg, trapped beneath its bulk, carried him down the mountainside with his horse.

  Avery screamed and reined in her snorting mount, afraid that they would follow the mare’s sickening slide. Gaius came to an abrupt stop at the base of the mountain, unmoving.

  Avery rolled off of the back of her horse, Sunny, and slid down the mountainside after her father, a shower of pebbles dislodged in her wake. She stumbled over to the still form of Gaius and dropped down at his side.

  Gaius was lying on his back, a long smear of blood on the rocks highlighting the path as though the furrow of rubble created by the slide of the horse wasn’t enough to show the route. His leg was bent at an unnatural angle, but the steady rise and fall of his chest showed he was alive.

  Avery reached out with her senses and detected a feeble fluttering pulse in the horse. It lay on its side, two legs broken and bent. The horse could not stand, even if it had the strength to do so.

  Avery examined her father, feeling along his arms, checking for broken bones. All seemed fine except for the large purple bruise blooming on his forehead and a nasty scrape along one arm, blood oozing through the torn sleeve.

  Gaius was partially buried in the scree which continued to trickle down to rest against the back of the horse. She scooped away the stone rubble with her hands, scrabbling in the dirt to determine if his limbs were actually trapped beneath the dying horse. As she cleared the last of the stones away from his leg, Sharisha knelt down beside her and placed her forefingers to either side of Gaius’s temple and closed her eyes. Avery sensed a mystical power flowing from Sharisha, a quiet stream of healing waters that flowed from her and into Gaius. The swelling receded and the bruise faded to green. Gaius’s eyes popped open. With a gasp, he attempted to sit up. Avery pushed him back down onto his back.

  “How do you feel?” Sharisha’s hands dropped to the sides of her woolen skirt, a tiny frown creasing her smooth features.

  Gaius blinked at her, licked his lips and his hand wandered to the bruise on his forehead. “I have a headache. Why can’t I feel my foot?”

  “It is currently lodged under your dead horse.” Avery began digging around her father’s foot, using a smooth stone to scrape away the loose soil. “Lay still while we free it.”

  Avery dug furiously, heart pounding, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to check the lip of the mountainside. If they were followed, they were in grave danger, exposed as they were at the base of the hill. Capture would be as easy as netting smelt in a shallow pool. The foot shifted as she scooped the soil back with her hands. Gaius leaned back on his hands and pulled on his leg, groaning with pain, as it popped free of its imprisonment under the horse.

  Sharisha bent back over his foot, examining the bones and tendons. “It is broken. This is beyond my limited ability to heal. We will have to set his foot.” Sharisha walked back to her horse and began searching her saddle bags for bindings.

  Avery felt a nudge at her shoulder. Sunny snuffled her fallen companion. She nudged her with her nose and whinnied, encouraging him to rise. She did not stir. Avery reached out with her senses once again, searching for the life force of the horse. The mare was dying, the barest essence remaining. She gathered i
t to her, thinking to comfort her during her last moments before death. She stroked her soft nose and ran her hand down her neck.

  Suddenly, the mare rippled in her vision. The body stilled and a blue mist began to rise from it, swirling from the pores of the skin, leaking from ears and eyes, seeping from every aperture. The mist rose and coagulated, brightening into a pure white form, which solidified and stepped away from the dead horse on the ground.

  Shocked, Avery stood up and slowly approached the shimmering unicorn. It stood about three hands in height and was an eye-blinding, virginal white with dainty pink hooves and a spiral horn of striped ebony, protruding from her forehead. Avery extended her hand, and the mare sniffed her fingers then allowed Avery to stroke her nose. Sunny, not to be outdone, whinnied and crowded in to greet the unicorn, anxious to make her acquaintance.

  “Where did you come from, pretty one?” Avery whispered to the unicorn. She glanced back over her shoulder and opened her mouth to say, “Isn’t she beautiful?” but neither her father nor Sharisha paid them any attention. Sharisha had returned to Gaius’s side and was kneeling beside the foot. It was like they couldn’t see the unicorn. Avery frowned and stroked the velvety nose. The unicorn leaned into the touch, and a peaceful contentment flowed into Avery, drowning the anxiety of a few moments before.